


I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day, Forever

by victorine



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas, Hannigram - Freeform, Idiots in Love, M/M, but hey it's christmas, but will might be into that, hannibal doesn't really understand the difference between being a creepy stalker and a boyfriend, questionable use of song lyrics, set sometime in s2, this is unforgivably cheesy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 02:16:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13180275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorine/pseuds/victorine
Summary: It's Christmas Eve and there's someone on Will's porch. Alana wouldn't creep around in the dark, and Jack would just pound on the door until Will answered.Which really leaves only two options.It's either Santa... or Hannibal fucking Lecter.





	I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day, Forever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TigerPrawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerPrawn/gifts), [HotMolasses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HotMolasses/gifts), [TCbook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCbook/gifts), [HotSauce418](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HotSauce418/gifts), [slashyrogue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashyrogue/gifts), [DrJLecter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrJLecter/gifts), [Devereauxs_Disease](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devereauxs_Disease/gifts), [Kateera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kateera/gifts), [RedFive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedFive/gifts), [fragile-teacup (Mrs_Gene_Hunt)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Gene_Hunt/gifts), [ThisIsMyDesignHannibal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisIsMyDesignHannibal/gifts), [TheSilverQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSilverQueen/gifts), [purefoysgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purefoysgirl/gifts), [wraithsonwings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wraithsonwings/gifts), [chronicopheliac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronicopheliac/gifts), [Pragnificent (PragmaticHominid)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PragmaticHominid/gifts).



> A belated Christmas gift for my wonderful, patient friends who have listened to me whine about how haaaaaaaaaaaard writing is this year. You're all saints and I love you.

Will was never sure, looking back, what alerted him to the presence of an intruder climbing his front steps. A shift in the air, perhaps. A noise on the edge of hearing. Certainly not his dogs, most of whom hadn’t moved an inch; though that was perhaps unsurprising, since he’d given them their traditional Christmas Eve treat – ground turkey cut with cranberries – and they would be in a food coma until morning, at least. But even Buster – who could not be stopped by a mere overstuffed belly – only lifted his head, cracked an eye and then flumped back down with a sigh.

Which meant that whoever was creeping around on Will’s porch at past two am on Christmas morning was someone the dogs knew and trusted.

And that left really only two options since Alana barely showed up even during the day anymore, and Jack would simply have pounded on the door until either it splintered or Will answered.

It was either Santa, or Hannibal fucking Lecter.

Will opened his front door, letting it bang as he did so in hopes of surprising the creepy bastard of an actual serial killer now making his way back along Will’s snow-dusted driveway. Of course Hannibal, being Hannibal, showed absolutely no signs of fright, halting his steps and pivoting smoothly to face Will with a placid expression.

It was utterly unfair, really, Will reflected, the way Hannibal looked. Soft flakes of snow fell to rest in his loosened hair, quite silver in the moonlight, and his eyes seemed to glitter like frost. If Will had been forced to reach for an adjective at that precise moment, the only one that would have fit was _angelic_. A fallen angel, to be sure, but still breathtaking in his beauty. It made something deep inside Will ache to see him that way.

“Good evening, Will,” Hannibal said, eyes flicking for the barest moment over Will’s half-dressed form and then back to his face. “My apologies, I had hoped to complete my errand without disturbing you.”

“I suspect you rather enjoy disturbing me, Doctor,” Will shot back, at a loss as to what Hannibal meant by the word _errand_. “Not a social call, then?”

“Those I pay a call to in the wee hours tend not to be my friends, Will.” Hannibal smirked and Will – _dammit all_ – could not help but return it. Apparently Hannibal took this as a sign to take a few steps towards Will, and he decided to allow it. He had nothing to fear from Hannibal – whatever their ending was to be, it wouldn’t be this bizarre, dreamlike meeting in the quiet of a frosted night – and he was curious to find out just what the man was up to.

“And we are friends, aren’t we, Doctor?” Will asked, letting the words drag slow and teasing from him.

“Indeed, Will. You are dear to me in ways I do not imagine you fully understand.”

Will cocked an eyebrow at this, but didn’t ask Hannibal to elaborate. He was pretty certain madness lay on the other side of letting Hannibal explain just what Will meant to him. Instead, he tilted his head and looked down on Hannibal with a small smile. “And yet here you are, during just those wee hours, acting suspiciously on my property. Convince me that I shouldn’t call the police and inform them I have a trespasser.”

Hannibal’s smile broadened from polite to delighted, and he took another couple of steps towards Will, until he could set one foot on the bottom step.

“Close enough,” Will told him, holding up a hand.

“As you wish.” Hannibal gave a small nod in acquiescence and remained where he was. “In that case, I will have to point you in the direction of my purpose,” he added, and gestured for Will to look to his left. There, resting on the seat Will had forgotten to bring in earlier, was a huge hamper, full to bursting, and tied with a ribbon that might have been red and might have been black; Will couldn’t tell in the moonlight.

Will stared at it, unmoving, for a good minute. The cold was beginning to make him shiver – he was sure it was the cold – but he couldn’t quite bring himself to go inside, to move, to look away from Hannibal’s gift. A suspicion began to form in his mind.

“Couldn’t have me missing out on your unique culinary tastes over the festive period?” he growled, finally snapping his eyes over to Hannibal, who met them with a strangely wounded, resigned expression.

“A gift should never be designed to satisfy the giver, Will. That would defeat its purpose.”

Will’s eyes narrowed at the endearment. “And what is your design, Doctor?”

“Can you not see it, dear Will?”

Will studied Hannibal’s face. He would never be able to instantly understand Hannibal’s motives or emotions the way he could most people’s, but he had learned much about how to read the man over the past few months. There was doubtless some ulterior motive or three he was missing, lurking under Hannibal’s beneficent exterior, but Will could see nothing but a yearning sincerity in either his face or his words. Words he could choose to believe or reject – it didn’t really matter what was in that hamper, what mattered was how Will reacted to it.

“So, what, a ceasefire for the holidays?” he asked incredulously.

“A truce, yes. A moment in which we may relax with each other, without our masks or person suits.”

“Just like the old days, huh?” Will considered the offer. “I’m cold,” he said, eventually.

“Once again, my apologies, Will, I should not have kept you out here in the snow.” He began to turn away, saying, “I will leave you in peace now, my car is just-”

“No,” Will interrupted him, receiving a look of confusion in return. He took a deep breath and continued, “Come up here.”

This time, Hannibal gave a genuine look of surprise – reflexively and effectively covered up, of course, but plain for Will to see. He hesitated for a moment, and then began slowly climbing the stairs, with something approaching awe on his face. Will stood, unmoving, patiently waiting for Hannibal to reach him, and when he did, Will reached for Hannibal in return, bringing his warm body against Will’s cold one. Hannibal stiffened for a moment, apparently stunned by this turn of events, and then gently pushed Will away a little.

The sting of hurt that lashed through Will was breathtaking, and he was about to shove Hannibal back down the steps and return to his bed, humiliated, when Hannibal breathed out, “Wait,” in such a pleading tone that Will was stayed by it. Then Hannibal began unbuttoning his coat, and Will felt a flutter at what he seemed to intend.

Hannibal kept eye contact the whole time he was unbuttoning, time seeming to slow to a crawl as his strong fingers deftly worked each one. And then, finally, he was finished and stepping forward, drawing Will back to him and wrapping the heavy, warm fabric around both of them. His arms remained tight around Will, and Will found himself returning the movement before he was even aware of it, shocked somewhere in a distant part of his mind at how easily they fit together. It was simply a natural progression to then tip his face up towards Hannibal and let their mouths fit together too.

The kiss wasn’t passionate or heated, but soft and sweet. Languid, even, as if they had all the time in the world to press their lips together, to each learn how the other moved, the sounds they made, the way they tasted. Will let himself fall into it while he could, let himself fall into the fantasy that this could ever be more than a moment, frozen crisp and clear under the light of the moon.

And then he made himself stop.

The tiny whine that Hannibal made as he pulled away was almost enough to convince Will to lean in and kiss him again. Only almost. Instead, he extricated himself from Hannibal’s coat, and pulled it back around, straightening his lapels as an excuse not to meet his eyes. “Thank you for the gift,” he said, his voice a little husky. When Hannibal didn’t answer, he finally forced himself to look into his face, finding his controlled mask had been put back in place.

“It was entirely my pleasure, Will,” Hannibal said, tone blandly warm and friendly. It might have been cruel, Will thought, for anybody else to make so clear how little affected they were by his impulsive gesture. But how could he expect anything else from Hannibal?

“Not entirely,” Will told him, with a small smile, and then stepped back to separate himself completely. “You should go.”

“Indeed,” Hannibal said, “I should not have kept you out in the cold, it was unforgivably rude of me.”

Will snorted gently. “Of all things, Hannibal, I think that’s one I won’t hold against you. Besides, cease-fire, right? No harm, no foul.”

“Simply slip back into our roles as though nothing had happened. Just keep things… professional?”

Will shot another smile he couldn’t help at Hannibal. “God forbid we do any adult socialising.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment, wry smiles plastered over flickers of pain. Then Hannibal nodded at Will and made his way down the stairs once again, leaving Will with the cold seeping back into his flesh. For a moment he wondered if he would remain in that spot, unmoving, slowly freezing, a monument to dashed hopes and wrong decisions.

Then.

“Hannibal?” Will asked the retreating figure, which stopped and turned once again at his words.

“Yes, Will?”

“I really don’t want to be this cheesy but, if this is what relaxing with you is like then… I wish it could be Christmas every day.”

Hannibal held his gaze for a moment, no discernible emotion on his face. And then he was stalking towards Will, who was running down the stairs to meet him at the bottom, crashing into each other, kissing and clutching and desperate. Hannibal hitched Will’s legs up around his waist, apparently mindful of the snow and Will’s bare feet, and they clung to each other as he walked them back to the porch, kissing too deeply to pause for breath.

“It could be, it could be, Will,” Hannibal burst out, stroking a hand through Will’s dishevelled curls. “It could be just this, forever.”

“Hannibal… no, I… it’s not possible. There’s too much – how could I trust you? How could you trust me?”

“I have and will always trust you, _mylimasis_. I will put my life in your hands if only you ask. Let me prove to you that you may do the same.”

“ _How_ , Hannibal?”

Hannibal paused for a moment, not, it seemed to Will, to think, but simply to appreciate the moment of possibility hanging between them. Then he let his hand drift down to cradle Will’s cheek and asked, “Would you come with me? For only a little while; I can have you back to your dogs before they ever know you are gone.”

“Where? Why?” Will asked, not even attempting to mask the trace of desperation in his voice.

“Up the coast, I have a property. There is something hidden there I would like to give you. Something precious but thought lost. A true Christmas gift.”

Will knew he should consider. No, he knew he should just decline, go back into his house, back into real life. But echoing in his head was that tiny noise Hannibal had made when he pulled away from their first kiss. That chink in his armour that showed he was just as lost, just as vulnerable to this as Will. Just as liable to be hurt if it went wrong.

“Show me.”

  

* * *

 

 

_One Year Later_

Alana stared down at the note in her hand, countless emotions warring in her mind. A year since they disappeared. A year of wondering, searching, hoping for good news and – on her worse days – bad, and now this. An unmarked envelope, a single sheet of paper, and a photograph.

_Dear Alana,_

_We hope that the festive season finds you in good health and good spirits. We should have loved to pay you a visit in person but, alas, circumstances prevent such a happy event. Please accept our thanks, in absentia, for your kindness in taking care of Will’s dogs, and our apologies for our rudeness in leaving without saying goodbye. Perhaps you will understand, though, that one’s ideals must sometimes be sacrificed for something of greater importance._

_With best wishes from all our family,_

_Hannibal and Will Lecter-Graham_

The photograph was of a nondescript but beautiful beach, pinks and golds staining the sky; though whether it was dawn or dusk, Alana couldn’t tell. In the distance, their backs to the camera, were three figures, making their way along the shoreline. The two men, one slightly shorter than the other, were holding hands, leaning into each other as they watched the third member of their group, whose appearance had caused Alana’s breath to hitch and her hands to shake.

It was a young woman, slim but strong-looking, her dark hair streaming behind her as she chased a familiar pair of dogs through the surf. She looked full of joy, her face turned just far enough to show the smile she was giving to the men with her.

_From all our family…_

Alana gazed at the photo for long minutes, letting silent tears fall onto the letter on her lap. Eventually, she gathered herself together and went to get her phone. It took a few rings but eventually Jack picked up, sounding exhausted. Bella’s condition had worsened badly in the last couple of months, and Alana suspected between caring for her and his job, he rarely slept anymore.

“Hello, Alana. You ok?”

Alana looked at the photo once again. It really was beautiful.

“Fine, Jack, just calling to wish you Merry Christmas. How’s Bella?” she asked, throwing the photo into her fireplace, followed by the note. She watched them curl up and turn to ash, as Jack told her that Bella’s health had rallied a little, and they made small talk about their plans for the day.

It was the season of forgiveness, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Will took Buster and Winston with them. No I have no idea how he procured pet passports at such short notice but I'm pretty certain Chiyoh was involved somehow.


End file.
